Little Transgressions
by occassionallywriting
Summary: It's a free evening during a serial killer case and the sexual tension between Sharon and Andy takes the center stage. It will, however, create some tricky situations at home. Sharon/Andy, mothershipping, Andy-Rusty relationship etc. Set around hiatus between season 3, after "Zoo Story". AU-ish (made so by latter seasons).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _It's November and that means NaNoWriMo! Which means I'm struggling to juggle all my writing and publishing_ Ballet Heels _. New chapters ASAP! Buuuut... I was looking for ideas for this year's NaNo and since I don't really have time I went browsing my fanfic files (yay for saving time with not having to come up with characters!). I found this and it made me smile. :) From NaNo 2014, but I think it works as a 'oneshot'._  
 _TIA 4 R & R.  
_

* * *

 **Little Transgressions**  
 **Chapter 1**

She is feeling boneless, stupid and reckless. It has been hard three weeks with four young women murdered and a sweltering heat taking over the city. Not to mention all the other things from her divorce to adoption to this strange dance she's been involved in with one of her Lieutenants. The dance that had at least the equal amount of steps back as it had forward until last week and certainly until the day before. Last night she let him kiss her for real, for the first time.

That it did take this long might be his fault. He has been anxious and distracted and trying to start a conversation with her without really getting anywhere for the past however many days, weeks, building untenable tension between them. But somehow last night the reason for all that clicked with her and with a sudden clarity she realized what he was struggling to get out so when he decided to blurt out he was 'getting tired of this dance they were doing' she knew. She knew. And instead of wanting to talk about all the things that made all this a stupid idea she practically sent him an engraved invitation to kiss her.

He was a little slow on the uptake, she has to admit, but he picked up pace nicely. Now, a day later, she could barely imagine the time when all his touches and looks weren't there. They still hadn't talked and she has no inclination to go there tonight either. It's all dark and complicated and unpleasant and they've had enough of that at work. No, she's perfectly happy to be standing in her building's garage, quietly face to face with him as if preparing to thank him for the ride and wishing him goodnight.

They both know this isn't going there and there's nothing either of them can do. And she doesn't mind: she likes to be looked at, like she is enough and alive.

But he is not content to just look at her. He studies her with penetrating eyes and, when he gets the courage, gentle fingertips. He likes her closed eyes, the hums deep in her throat and the swallows he can feel reverberating just below his ring finger. Her skin is sticky and fragrant: the heat alone brings a slight blush to her chest.

"You look tired," he says when she opens her eyes. She laughs. "I know, the most charming thing I could possibly say to you."

"Not that bad, really," she responds.

"No. Your eyes shine." He pushes a hand under her hair, briefly pausing to graze her cheek before mixing fully in her gorgeous tresses. The diluted smile on her lips makes him ruefully clear his remark, "And that was not a compliment. They only get that shine when you are tired."

"I am," Sharon admits with a content sigh. His fingers at the apex of her neck feel heavenly against her stiff muscles.

"Beautiful still," he murmurs and before anything orders, "Don't roll your eyes."

With a laughter in her voice, she asks for a correction. "My pretty eyes?"

"Yeah." He tickles the velvety skin at the back of her head and reaches to steal a quick peck from the corner of her lips. As if in secret his other hand goes to rub her flank. It is electricity running from one of his hands to the other, to his lips, making him hyper-aware of her body. "You feel wonderful," he breaths out as he pulls back.

"Don't." The strong admonition — almost the strength of her prime days — carries more weight when she extracts the hand from her waist and grabs the wrist disappearing behind her ear. "I'm tired and dirty and worn-out and only thing I'm good for right now is sleeping."

"Doesn't matter," he smiles and strokes her neck in calming patterns, "Gorgeous still."

"Andy, don't." The meaning wouldn't have been any clearer if she had used the words 'you're such a liar' instead. She sighs. "Me and my inner glorious vamp are not even in the same county tonight."

He snorts. "You don't have an inner vamp." He shakes her hand off his wrist and pulls both of his hands to cradle her head. "You don't need one. Tonight or ever."

She hums that little sound Andy has come to know as the 'oh please, you're so wrong, but I just can't win' groan. In recent weeks, days, he has caught himself from thinking how vocal would she be when using no words. He can picture it now: her biting her lip, trying to keep quiet and failing miserable with every hum, whine and groan his hands would elicit from her. He imagines hands because that is the powerful contact point with reality: she is right there, in his hands; pliant and heavy, warm and at peace.

His fingers gently pry in her neck, playing a soft symphony on her strained muscles. A high-pitched hum of pleasure closes her eyes. It makes him yearn for more, makes him thoughtlessly daring as he leans closer to her ear.

"Would you mind if I invited you into my bed?"

She smiles faintly. "No." Oddly enough, she wouldn't. She's not even panicking at the thought, not even thinking of all the reasons why she should mind.

"But you won't come," he says and she thinks there might be even a little sadness in his voice as the fingers in the back of her neck turn even softer.

"No."

He goes to ghost his lips along the line of her jaw, content to satisfy their want to shed whispered kisses at all the important points.

"You know I can invite you just to sleep," he says after a moment.

"I know," she sighs. That does sound pretty heavenly, but she won't be telling him that. And she wouldn't be able to anyway, not when he is eating the breath back to her lips. She lets him, even asks him further. "I want my own bed," she murmurs with her lips still ghosting his.

"I'm flexible," he shrugs.

She smiles. Instead of her whole palm stopping him, it's more to do with three of her fingernails caressing his chest, feather light. "Alone. I just want to slip between my cool, slippery sheets and forget about today," she says on a needy hum.

He imagines her doing just that, nothing but that, and in nothing but, and it is too much. In his imagination her sheets are dark, satin, the light enough to expose the contrasts.

In admonishment he shakes his head and travels his lips back back closer to her jaw. "I can think of other ways to help you forget," he says and nips at the translucent skin right before her ear, "especially after hearing a thing like that. You are determined to make me wild."

She again exhales a long breath. One of the not-so-good 'Andy, please!' variety. Nevertheless she doesn't resist his efforts to block further examples by gathering her lips in another kiss. This one is an unhurried exploration of the most tender skin of hers he's had the privilege to touch and a series of his lips trying to gently bite hers. Turn by turn be tries to pick up first her top, then bottom lip.

"I'm not", she sighs straight on his lips, when he relents and hovers just close enough for her scent and warmth to fool his skin with untrue messages of touch. "I'm telling you the truth."

She searches for another light contact but he pretends to be offended.

"With words that build strong imagery for men," he says pulling back the inches, three at most, to lend any credence to his charade. It is sufficient to elicit a whimper from her throat. It's new, a better 'please' than the ones he has heard before.

He watches her closed eyes, slowly bringing the hand up from behind her neck to cup her cheek all the while letting his thumb make the small smoothing half-circle. She lets him. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to read secrets on her skin and she wants to know what he can uncover.

"Come to my bed, I'll cool the sheets for you."

Her lips part in that radiant smile that always is more about the emotion than the act. He is foolish enough to start pushing his other hand from her hip back and around her waist. It doesn't take an inch for her smile to fade, for her hand to grab his wrist to stop him where he was, for her eyes to open. They are bright and radiant, even when she pushes both of his hands off her body.

"Thank you, I have good sheets at home."

"How do you know mine aren't better?"

"I don't." She drops her head, smiles and licks her lips. "There is a discussion needed here."

"Is there?" He snakes both of his arms around her waist and pulls her as close as physics allow, his lips finding their place on the tendon beneath her ear. "I seem to think this is pretty simple. I want you," he whispers urgently straight into her ear. She is surprised there is enough air for her to hear the words or feel the vibrations of his breath. It makes her shudder and start away the inch he allows her. Her hands slide down her body to behind her waist where she peels away his.

"Even if, you can't..."

She leaves the sentence to hang between them, to squish between her lips meeting his in a flat and soft gesture he can't name. She doesn't mean it anyway. It's written clearly in the contact that is more warmth than kissing and he feels the strong need to run his hands up and down her back to get some craved friction. He manages the first half of his first downstroke before she pulls them off.

Holding his wrists away, though strategically in the wrong place (if he was brave he would show her the error she makes due to fatigue by pressing his palms the two inches that separate them from curling around her ribs, maybe even tickling the undersides of her breasts), she closes in for another kiss, this one more traditional than some they have indulged in.

In the moment, there aren't many things Andy can think of that would start with 'I can't'. A list of things starting with 'I shouldn't', and plenty of ideas starting with 'I won't' in connection with her he is smart enough to notice. That is why he lets her be in control, dictate the connection.

When she pulls back, his eyes linger on the collars of her shirt that loosely rest against her collarbones. Right between them there is a little deeper flush than the weather allows and the tops of her breasts seem to rise and fall in a pattern that is enticingly deep and tranquil. He wants to trail his finger down across her sternum, to pop open the button just sitting there, unmovable and taunting.

"Come on," she tells him with a smirk that is totally unmissable for everyone but the man trying to stare down her blouse. She starts walking away with enough sway in her hips to distract him for a few moments more. "We have plans."


	2. Chapter 2

Upstairs Andy directs Sharon to make herself comfortable while he goes on to the kitchen. He drops his jacket haphazardly on an armchair — it's wrinkled and sweaty enough not to warrant much care. As an afterthought he loosens his tie and throws it in the direction of the jacket.

Not ten minutes later Sharon ambles back into the living area, sans heels and jacket, her neck and chest feeling slightly for the fresher after the hasty dabbing of water she employed in the bathroom. She didn't dare to mess with what little make-up was still in the vicinity of where she applied it too long ago and she opted not to change out of her silk blouse and tailored skirt in consideration for Andy not being able to get out of his work clothes. She notes his efforts to make himself more comfortable, then turns the corner into the kitchen and stops to watch the man himself.

Andy has opened one of the top cupboards. It's the one with dry goods: pasta, rice, dried mushrooms, bouillon cubes, flour and grains. He stands there, staring blankly and slack-jawed. Sharon is about to comment when he lets his head drop and she hears a small groan from deep down his throat. She nearly laughs at his dejection but instead decides to creep in closer.

"What are you doing?" The soft, lilting question brings him out of his contemplation. The soft, warm hands wandering up his back and over his shoulders help more than she could imagine.

As soon as those hands reach his field of vision Andy catches them by the wrists. Not to stop their adventures, but to keep her body pressed tight against his back. He tugs on the wrists for good measure, trying to get her even closer. She stumbles an inch or two more into his body, then hums thinly and lays her head between his shoulder blades. Yes, this is it, he thinks as he closes his eyes. This is novel, very novel, but so good, so right. The way they are, the way Sharon is, surprises him to some extent. Not even last night would he have thought it 'sharon' to sneak up on him, to touch him like her hands owned him and to just be there tangled up in him. Not with her reservedness and tendency to overthink. This is in fact so far from his expectations but he's not going to complain. He just enjoys the soft, warm body against and all over him.

After a few minutes she hums thinly and repeats, "So, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking how crude of me it would be to take the pretty lady to bed without feeding her first." Sharon chuckles silently, he can feel it on his back. "I'm too tired to think what to make, never mind to make it," Andy sighs apologizing.

"Well," she laughs, "since you are not taking me to bed anyway, I wouldn't worry about it."

Andy turns, still keeping her wrists trapped in his hands so that they end up trapped between their bodies when they face each other. He looks at her, her soft smile and tired but pretty eyes. She's left her glasses somewhere, he notes as he keeps studying her. Too long, he knows when her eyes fall towards the floor and her teeth come to tease her lower lip.

"Sharon," Andy says conspiratorially, "it would make me very happy to get you into bed right about now." A wiggled brow answers her startled look. "I hear you're pretty good at sleeping."

Before she can do anything else, she snorts a laugh. Now her head comes to rest on his chest until she can gather herself. "Oh, I am tired. Everything's funny."

"I think we both need some sleep. Been a long day," he sighs and gathers her in his arms. "I really don't want to be cooking right now."

She hums. "Look into the fridge. Eggplant parmigiana, two minutes in the microwave." Andy lets her go to do just that. It takes a few moments of searching. "Nonna's recipe."

"My Nonna?" he asks in surprise.

"Who else."

Andy looks comically from the dish to Sharon to dish to Sharon. She is tempted to laugh and has to raise fingers to her lips to stop that from taking over. The few errant giggles snap him back into the conversation.

"Oh, you are wonderful. You are."

Sharon schools herself to mock displeasure — arms folded — raises a brow and adds a self-satisfied smirk.

"Would I invite you for a dinner and then make you cook said dinner yourself? Is that what you think of me?"

"Taking advantage of defenseless males and their reptilian brains? Yes, that's exactly what I think you're capable of."

Sharon rolls her eyes and goes to clear the table for dinner. There are a few newspapers, a legal pad and a pen. The bunch of lilies has to move as well since it's starting to wilt. She wipes the pollen in a dirty place mat and throws the place mats under the credenza.

"I'm sorry to say Rusty isn't a fan," she chatters while cleaning, "but he will eat it if there's nothing else in the house. Something about squishy textures and I don't know." She gets clean wine red place mats on the table. "Too bad that I'm too tired to make him something else today but at least we'll enjoy our meal, right Andy?"

Before she can worry about the missing answer, she feels his breath hot and humid against her neck. When did the man move? He should wear a bell, she thinks just as he turns her around by the shoulders.

"You're wonderful."

"So you keep telling me." She smiles, a little awkwardly to be honest.

"Sorry I don't have any other words for you." His fingers move up to move loose strands of hair from her forehead. "Making my favorite dinner when I've lived three days on bad coffee and stale chips. That's wonderful."

"I think I can live with 'wonderful'."

"You better."

Andy takes her lips in a warm, wholly encompassing kiss. Sharon's first responses are sweet hums in her throat. With few well-placed shuffles he backs her to stand against the edge of the dinner table. He checks his success by taking his hands off her, tapping the cold hard edge of the table. He hums at the result and she responds with a similar hum, only more urgent, to question his sounds. They don't make any sense to her and she thinks her brain fell off when he pushed her. His hands on her are too much and she wants more. She whines again.

Andy's only answer is to place one hand on her thigh while the other searches her flank. This sound she makes of contentment, he dares to think. But he is not done. His hip searches the center of her stomach and after a reasonable guess he feels confident to press his thigh against the little forgiving fabric of her skirt. There is a thin gasp from her lips which he complies with a soft puff of an exhale.

The hand on her flank slips lower, all the way off her blouse and down her skirt. Andy's intention was to anchor it under the swell of her ass, but he can't resist the lovely, flowing shape of her thigh. Absently he lets his hands have their craving satisfied, his mind complying with better ideas than the one he had planned on. A devilish smirk takes over his lips.

"What?" she breathes out in anticipation. Her chest burns, both on the inside and out.

"Your legs are wonderful." Sharon snorts and presses her head in his neck. "Don't laugh."

She snorts again and kisses the underside of his jaw. "For your birthday, I'm buying you a thesaurus."

"I know plenty of alternatives. You just stop my brain from getting them through." With gentle fingers he raises her chin and starts shedding kisses on her blushing neck pausing only to say a word at a time, "Heavenly. Wondrous. Terrific. Fantastic. Amazing. Extraordinary. Magnificent. Marvelous. Remarkable. Phenomenal."

"Those are not all —"

Sharon's words turn into a squeal as he grabs the backs of her thighs and hoists her on the table.

"No. But they're no less true."

Andy quickly leans back to check the legs on the table. There is a reason why his hands feel trapped. Figures. In some moments her pencil skirts are nothing but trouble. In his efforts he managed to bunch her skirt in a way that makes him have to choose between both hands on her lower thighs, both on her ass above the skirt or only one properly underneath. It is not an easy choice, but he makes it regardless, directing his right hand on her stomach while letting his left to stay exploring the smooth texture of her leg.

"You're great on a desk."

Again taking her lips in a kiss he stops her from laughing at him. This kiss bites the taste from her skin and drags the warm blood to plump up her lips. He is getting more aggressive with her mouth, but she doesn't seem to mind. Sharon is all hums and whimpers and uncoordinated hands. Still Andy is careful of her body, and suddenly he gets heady with the surprise as he realizes where his hands have been. Yet he is not ready to move under her shirt, or even to her breasts over the fabric. And honestly, kneading the perfect muscles of her thighs is not too much of a consolation; rather the prize.

They are engrossed in making out like a pair of teenagers. Except that there is none of that desperation and ambiguity that rise from inexperience. No, this is all assured actions and heady need. Every touch with a purpose. When his hand hooks around the back of her thigh in order to pick up her knee, he lets her lips go with a sudden release that makes her gasp. He buries his nose in her hair and his left foot tries desperately find a chair he could pull closer for better access.

Impatient, Andy finds no such thing, so he goes back to teasing her lips, rubbing her back and kneading the wonderful thigh in his hand. Her knee locks between his flank and elbow and maybe it is the support she was looking for, since now her hands start finding confident paths from his chest over his shoulders and along the big muscles of his upper arms. A greedy yank on her thigh releases a whimper which conveniently covers the sound of the front door opening.

Rusty stares at the scene playing out against the deep blue canvas of the darkening evening sky. He is somewhat surprised it does not end, but he is totally surprised he doesn't feel anything besides the general surprise of coming across something unexpected.

He drops his bag on the floor beside the door and calls out, softly, "Uh, hi, guys. I'm gonna be back in a minute, okay."

Not checking the reactions, he backs out of the door and pulls it closed.

Sharon's eyes snap open and her body freezes. She does nothing to extricate herself from under Andy's hands, rather waits for him to pull back, which he does, after a few seconds of complete stillness. The 'away' part of the pulling away consists only of few inches. He closes his eyes, lets his head fall forwards. Sharon follows him, coming to rest her forehead on his chest. Their breaths come in ragged sighs and jagged gasps and both of them concentrate on doing absolutely nothing besides getting their breathing even and compliant with forming words.

When his hands slip soothingly on either side of her spine, she starts to realize she was feeling him all around, all over herself. There is no way for her to pinpoint what exactly he was doing to her needy body or how he was doing it.

Plainly, she looks up in his eyes and asks, "Where were your hands, Andy?"

Andy pulls back completely and helps her upright leaving one hand on her knee while he contemplates. His hands were moving all over and all around and now he isn't sure she wants to hear certain words.

"Hu, I — Well, on your back and your ass. Sorry."

She takes it well. Licks her lips, hums. "Well, at least we were only kissing."

"About that... Sharon..." Andy steps closer keeping the eye contact as long as possible. Then he nuzzles his nose under her hair, necking not being a verb too far removed from his approach. "Under your skirt." To show her the full meaning his words, since he suspects she has no idea because of the question she had to ask, he slips the hand on her knee to tickle the point where the hem of her skirt meets her skin. At her wriggle he moves the hand purposely all the way up her thigh, and as his fingers find the elastic of her panties, he pointedly pushes two pads into her flesh. Her neck extends as straight as it can be and she grunts. It's one of the prettiest sounds he has heard her make. His hand slides even further up, the wrist inside her skirt forcing the fabric up her skin. Her next sound is a mixture of a sigh, an 'oh' and a swallow. "So beautiful," Andy whispers in her ear, his breath moist, making her shiver in his hands.

"Okay, guys, I'm n—" Rusty picks his head up to see practically the same tableau as he did on his first try. Sharon's pale thigh burns into his retinas. "Geezus guys."

Sharon shallows uneven breaths and hopes that the clearing of her throat gives some sense of normalcy both for him and for her. "Honey, can you give us a second."

"I gave you a minute, more like two, and things didn't get any better."

"Just a few seconds. For me to get to down and... everything."

Andy keeps looking at her, her sweet flush, the uncomfortable hiding of her cheek against her shoulder. He reaches to pet the cheek to get her to look at him, to relax.

For Rusty, he says, "Just turn your back and count to twenty."

"Fine, but then I'm rolling, even if there are clothes on the floor."

Andy brushes Sharon's hair the best he can with his fingers, arranges her tresses to look presentable in her mind while she brushes a thumb against the corner of his cheek and arranges his collar and shirt to look smart. As smart as possible.

"Fifteen... sixteen..."

Andy helps her down, Sharon adjusts the waistband of her skirt and smooths the hem.

"Okay, twenty."

Rusty turns around and this time there is no one on the table nor is there any bare skin he shouldn't see on the view. Sharon is holding herself in a half-hug and smiles, nervously.

"Hi honey. How was your day?"

"Yeah."

"I—" Sharon glances to her side, just enough to see Andy from the corner of her eye. She wishes he won't try anything stupid like touching her shoulder. He shouldn't be standing behind her. Not that close. He shouldn't be looking at her. He shouldn't be flattening the creases on his shirt! What the hell is he thinking! What did she think, letting him — "I'm sorry," she says and, with her eyes locked to the ground, walks out of the room.

The men follow her hasty retreat with their eyes.

"Uh —" Rusty says after she is firmly out of sight.

"Yeah." Andy runs a hand through his hair. Isn't this awkward. Granted, they shouldn't have made out like it was their last chance when they both knew the boy was on his way home. But... But what? He can't think because his mind is filled with images of Sharon panting and brushing, grinding, against his thigh. "We're both sorry for that. Not really something you should come home to."

"Look, it's cool. The visual of her thigh in your hand I could have done without, but I've seen much worse."

"Yeah, well, that's no consolation. Or recommendation for future behavior."

Rusty waves and walks to check the fridge. "Seriously, I'm cool with you two. Just a bit of a surprise. The last I heard she was... like, toying with the idea of dating you."

"She wants to date me?" This is news to Andy. Sharon doesn't strike him as someone who would talk about dating with her kid and honestly, he hasn't stopped to think about whether they would actually date or —

"Uh... Like... Yeah?" The boy turns around, munching on something that looks disturbingly like a canape. Andy doesn't ask. And he wouldn't have a chance as Rusty's brows scrunch and he asks, "Why? What do you think you were doing?" He looks at the man like street justice is rapidly heading in Andy's direction. "She's not some bimbo you can just — Wham, bam and thank you ma'am."

"No, of course she's not. She just never said she was... looking."

The boy raises one brow. "No, I don't think she's looking either. Anymore."

Andy can't help the foolish smirk that is only stopped by Rusty rolling his eyes. Right. Not the right time to be giddy about his dating-status with the teenager's mother. But still... Rusty rolls his eyes again. Yes, there is a time and a place, Andy thinks (nothing the irony) and files his giddiness and smirks and everything away.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Andy confirms.

"Yeah. Go talk her out of it."

"Out of what?"

"Probably leaving the country by now."

He chuckles, but sadly, the boy might be right.


	3. Chapter 3

As he reaches the door to Sharon's bedroom, Andy is convinced he will walk in on a private debate. He expects to find Sharon with bunched arms, pacing with a closed in look on her features, convincing herself that taking a step back from whatever's blossoming between them solves everything. It is this thought that compels to prepare a few arguments to excuse what happened earlier. He knows Sharon hates excuses but it's his first instinct and the single thing he feels he can do to keep her close. They are both tired, no, exhausted; they have been denying and dancing around this for too long; their case is brutal; they didn't know Rusty would be home this early; Rusty already knew there was something going on...

Andy takes a deep breath and enters. The room is dim, the lights of the city glimmer through the uncovered windows. Sharon sits on the far edge of her bed, slumped and so small, staring at the darkening sky and the few clouds hanging there like shadows. Where earlier her creased clothes and rumpled hair only added to her attraction in a sweet and familiar way, they now only make her look sad and forlorn. This certainly isn't what Andy expected. He prepared for feisty, not this silent, broken creature.

Guilt constricts his throat. They wouldn't be here if he wasn't such an ass. An ass with no self-control.

For a moment he watches her, perhaps waiting for a cue. Sharon stays fixed on her perch: she leaves it all up to him. Andy, taking the initiative, lets go of the door handle. The faint click of it turning in place prompts no reaction even if the sound rings unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He approaches the bed all the while hoping for a direction from Sharon. Anything, any little sound or a minute gesture, to help him understand her and what she needs from him.

If she needs anything at all. If she needs him.

Helpless he pauses to look at the room. He has never been inside before — why would he — but feels instantly at ease. The air itself smells of warmth and softness and sleep. And of course Sharon: only where her scent is subtle, an enticing hint, the room is close to brimming with the muted florals and herbals that make up her profile. Andy wouldn't mind waking up here, surrounded by all of this. And he certainly wouldn't mind going to sleep here, especially not today seeing how tired he is and how relaxed this calming room is making him. Even the colors and earthy fabrics (she lied about the sheets by the way, he notices: everything looks soft and like quality cotton) add to the aura of relaxation. The decor breathes ease and forethought: every item functional and necessary, in its designated place.

One detail rebels against the perfect image: the dress she wore to the theater the — was it really two nights ago? — the last time they went still hanging on the closet door. Feeling that soft roughness of the dress's raw silk over the slender curve of her lower back was when he knew with unwavering certainty that he would touch her like a woman, like he was trying to get drunk on her skin. He remembers wanting to talk about that impulse with her but they never quite managed to get there and now... And now, here they are.

Nothing to it, Andy thinks, he has to take the plunge and see if he can make this better. At least, see if he can do something that will make this not worse.

He rounds the bed carefully. Before he can draw her attention to himself, Sharon closes her eyes. He pauses in front of her and she turns her cheek to him. Andy waits for something, anything, from her, but that seems to be all. He hesitates, but chooses to take a seat on the bed next to her. The mattress makes a distinctive dip and while her clasped hands twitch in her lap, the rest of her remains unresponsive. This close Andy can tune into the sound of Sharon's breathing. It is slow and deep, like subdued panting. It suggests of imminent tears. Those he can't handle, Andy thinks.

Afraid of spooking her, he raises a hand to gently stroke her jaw. As soon as his skin touches hers, she flinches. He tries again, she shirks. Still he wants to offer some comfort, so his hand searches to snake around Sharon's shoulders. She feels the movement and the warmth of his body and raises both of her hands in the universal 'no, don't touch me' gesture.

Andy is left to contemplate rejection as he loosely crosses his fingers and brings them to his lap. Everything is quiet: he barely hears Sharon's breathing and the distant sounds Rusty makes in the kitchen; pulling out drawers, opening the fridge, taking out dishes. He knows he needs to wait, even if he wants to do something, badly. Offer some sort of comfort. But he resigns to take her lead.

Maybe a minute later Andy feels Sharon lean heavily against his shoulder. His hand automatically takes her even closer, trying to mold her body along his side. The fact that now she allows that with only a small twitch of her shoulders leaves him a little comforted. He likes to say she feels warm, still appealingly heated by what happened earlier and the soft air in her bedroom, but she doesn't. She feels almost cold, like she has just stepped inside from a brisk walk in a New York surprise winter.

While her body tentatively agrees with the contour of his, her hands remain slack in her lap. He glances down and wonders if he should take them in his, if she would even allow that. He doesn't want to push her, at all. The thing is, Andy has already considered Sharon's 'no, don't touch me' being permanent. That's what you get for rushing.

But as it is now, he can't reach any conclusions. She has gone quiet, on all levels. Usually he can at least hear her think. See her body language, flitting eyes or a telltale nervous habit. Now, nothing. Even her self-assured posture has morphed into an unassuming slump. She is limp and listless. Whether this is true shock or his worried mind playing tricks on him, he doesn't know.

"I feel like shit." Her voice slurs an uncommon softness into the rough expression.

"Oh, Sweetheart." The endearment slips from Andy's lips without a moment's thought. It blocks his thoughts and his breath for a while after as he hopes she doesn't latch on it. Or if she does, maybe that the word alone would attach her to him in some unbreakable way. When the word too fails to get anything out of her, he continues, "There's no reason."

Sharon's breathing changes into short and sharp inhales. Or, rather, Andy thinks, she lets her breathing be heard. The few ragged inhales prompt him to whisper, "Don't cry."

She is not crying, but she is dejected and on the brink of tears. The inhales keep bombarding his side and he leans down to check her face. Her eyes are tightly closed, but there are no tears running down her cheeks either.

"He is fine," Andy tries reassuring. "We talked."

He knows Sharon's mind is first on the boy, her vantage that of a mother. Perhaps she feels like she failed him in her embarrassment. Perhaps his own reaching out to Rusty might bring some comfort, some sense of peace. He suspects Rusty wouldn't be all that happy with any man trying to get closer to Sharon and that Sharon knows it, so maybe knowing that he and the boy managed to have a conversation all on their own would ease her mind in some small amount.

Her disinterest speaks volumes.

"He knows what he saw," Andy tries again.

Well, them making out in full display didn't really leave much ambiguity, but he means more in the vein of what it meant. Granted, it shouldn't have happened, at least not where the boy could have seen. They could have waited and at least moved into her bedroom.

She was just too damn delectable while chattering and cleaning and balancing on one leg in her rumpled hair and her blouse an accordion thanks to the hours spent sitting in cars and offices. And if there is some blame firmly in his court, there must be some in hers. It was her who lured him in yesterday. It was her who seduced him into kissing her when he wanted to talk about where they were headed. It was her in all her sweetness who inspired him into this evening's transgression.

"You have helped him to understand that this is not bad."

He can blame his poor control for what happened. Heck, he does. It was him who couldn't keep his grubby hands off her. He wanted to plant his lips into her neck but was pretty sure she would have startled unnecessarily. And he is still not sure that would have been enough for him. He needed to keep himself busy so he would not say something he would regret. I love you. It's just around the corner for him. He's a walking cliche — falling for his best friend — and deep down he knows that even if he were to blurt it out she wouldn't reciprocate. But still, all these little things considered, what they did doesn't seem like such a huge lack in judgement.

"Hey, he knows that was not ugly."

That finally garners a vehement comment from Sharon. "How was that anything more than what his mother has done!"

Slipping his other hand under her jaw, he again tries to meet her eyes. She lets him tilt her head, but not to meet her eyes. He waits, but they keep closed. He is starting to miss the green in them.

Not daring to wait for her to cave, Andy finds his comfortingly assertive voice to tell her, and only her, "That was two people who really care about each other showing that appreciation and joy to each other."

It might be an extrapolation of his own thoughts she won't share, but that is ultimately how he sees it. If the whole scene had been only about lust and desire and undeniable need, he would have approached the situation completely differently. There wouldn't have been any thought for her body and her thoughts about it, rather only greedy hands and thoughts about grabbing for what he could. He might have even considered startling her on purpose. No, that whole scene was a damn dam bursting. Nothing less, nothing more.

Obviously she doesn't share his view, he thinks when she practically claws his hand off and away from her face. She huffs. "That was me blindsiding him into being a witness to my adulterous behavior."

"Shh," Andy tries to stop her ugly words against herself, "he doesn't think that, I don't think that. You're special to both of us and nothing you do will change that."

She pulls away and flops on the bed behind his back, quickly grabbing a pillow around which she curls in a fetal position and turns her back to him. He follows her with his gaze. The way her hips dig into the mattress and the curve of her waist undulates up and down reek of disappointment and anger. Andy lets her wallow.

"I'm not a good person," she murmurs into the corner of the pillowcase.

Andy soothes her calf with one palm, remarking how well even those two parts of them fit together. She's actually tiny, slender and just the right size to hold in his grasp. Andy pats her ankle. "I know that's the embarrassment talking, but... You are. One of the best I've ever met."

The word 'good' sparks an unexpected connection to the quiet and sad image he found when walking in the room. He feels extremely privileged as well as a total bastard at the sudden realization. Like with so many things, they haven't had that conversation. Avoiding important issues seems like an unfortunate habit with them. Hesitantly he suggests, "Do you want me to take you to church?"

She shakes her head. He nods. He's not sure if that's a good or a bad sign since his own Catholicism is of the 'tick one of these boxes' sort. But at least she was certain in her answer. She must be getting somewhere in her musings. He lets her get on with it.

Andy watches the sky outside going darker and darker. The clouds Sharon was watching when he entered are turning towards black before subtly fading to barely visible. Rusty walks to and fro a few times in the hall outside. Probably drops off his stuff, gets a computer or something. Andy doesn't hear the ding of the microwave so he's not sure if the boy has eaten anything or if he is waiting for them. In any case it is important for Sharon not to fall asleep and Andy tries to make sure of it by keeping one hand on her legs and moving in unpredictable patterns.

When he sighs and moves under his hand, Andy turns to her and speaks again. "You can't hide forever."

Sharon rolls over and looks him pleadingly in the eye. "Can't we take it back?"

"Sure," Andy says. "How do you suggest we do that?"

"I don't know." She stays silent for a moment as if actually trying to come up with a way. "Can't you think of something?"

Andy laughs drily and shakes his head. He's not a thinker, he's a doer and she should know that by now. On that, actually... "I do have another suggestion," he pauses to look at her critically, "but I don't think you're ready for it."

"Oh," her eyes brighten, "I'm ready for any suggestion."

"I don't know, it's a pretty complicated process."

Sharon fumbles into a half-sitting position. "I'm ready to try anything."

"Okay." He takes the warm pillow away from her arms. She reluctantly lets it go and falls back into reclining. "Come here." He extends one hand and waits for her to shift, turn around and come sit up before he takes her back under his arm. "You're a wonderful woman, a wonderful mother." He kisses her hair before continuing, "In this house alone there are two people who care about you so much."

She wants to fight, starts to shake her head. He kisses her softly, her muscles twitch tense. He kisses her again and again until she won't startle. He kisses her even more deeply then and keeps doing so until, slightly breathless, she lets out a giggle and pushes him gently away.

"Kissing me until I just don't care any more, that was your plan?"

"No," he responds to her teasing, "but if you think that'll work, we can use it as a plan B."

Then, without letting her out from under his arm, he plants his lips on hers and walks her back out in the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

The moment they emerge into Rusty's view, Sharon tenses and tries to stop. Andy lets her lips go, but squeezes her even closer to encourage her to walk on towards Rusty's perch on an orange arm chair. As if they were alone, Andy walks her to the couch, sits down and the weight of his hand demands for Sharon to follow. Her posture remains stiff even as she lands on the soft cushions. Andy sits as comfortably, as relaxed as he always does, but doesn't move his arm a hair. Crossing one ankle on the other knee, he smirks at the boy.

"So, how was your day?"

Rusty looks from Andy to Sharon, who still is more focused on her own hands than anything, sitting as if she was attending a mass.

Thinking this is the time to be honest about everything, he looks back at Andy. The pointed focus directed back at him is unmistakable and goes on a limb to trust the man. Assuming the goal is to ignore both what happened as well as Sharon on the whole until she feels either comfortable enough or pressured enough to join in, he gives out the answer he would if it was Sharon asking.

"Same old. 'Mr. Beck, here!' about two thousand times. If I ever get a dog, I'm calling it Mr. Beck for fond memories."

Andy chuckles and nods. Clearly they are on the same page. "Yeah, sounds like an entry level job. A word of advice: if you don't want to keep hearing that, stay out of the Academy."

"Oh I will stay out," Rusty enthusiastically agrees, "only because I want to hear something for the rest of my life. Sharon will smack me deaf if I even think about joining."

"I will not," Sharon mumbles for her lap.

Neither pays her any mind.

"You never know," Andy says with tease, "you might be the one creating a family tradition."

What a horrifying prospect!, Rusty transmits wordlessly. The PD has been good for him, but to work there, well, it is not the first thing he has been considering when Sharon has pestered him about thinking what he wants to do when he grows up.

"I'm not sure I could ever do your job," the boy replies with honesty.

"There are a lot of different kind of cops."

"I know, but yet to meet one whose job I'd like to have."

"Yeah, wanting to be a cop takes a special kind of crazy."

"Or a sad past." He blurts it out without thinking, but he should know: he's got that route covered to a t. "Sorry guys. Like... Well, uhm."

"I know what you mean. Me, Sharon and Tao, we are the crazies, the rest of the team are the ones with good causes."

Sharon finally looks up at Andy.

"What?"

"I didn't want to be a cop."

"No?"

"No."

"I thought you did. I thought you were crazy in love and wanted to build a better life for you and your family by being a cop."

"Well if you want to look at it that perversely, yes, yes, I was a special kind of crazy."

"The best kind of crazy," he says softly and strokes her jaw. She flinches away. "You've really done what you set out to do. Three kids with a great life, and even the husband you wanted to make a lawyer just that. Not to mention the fringe benefits of making the city safer for everyone, not just your own family."

Sharon looks away, clearly embarrassed.

"Actually," Rusty pipes in as he shifts his position on the chair, "what Sharon has done I kinda would like to do."

Andy nods easily. "Most important job on the force. Probably the hardest too."

"I don't know much, you never talk about it, Sharon, but I've heard the others talk about it."

Sharon flips her hair and looks at Andy. "Ah, I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay. What would you like to talk about then?"

Sharon shrugs and keeps looking at him, her eyes pleading for something.

"Rusty," she says, "if you want to hear about what I did before, you should ask someone else. I don't particularly want rehash that, and my view would be so colored, but I think it would be great for you to know if you're interested. I can ask the Chief if he can get someone to talk with you, if you want. Ask me later."

"Yeah. That could be interesting."

Andy breaks their eye contact only for a fraction of a second to glance at Rusty. "If neither of you minds, I could tell you about it."

"You?" Sharon's voice is full of disbelief.

"Yes, me. I know what you were supposed to do and how and what you actually achieved on a larger scale." He pats Sharon's shoulder and focuses on Rusty. "I can't tell you about procedure and specific cases, doubt that's what you're really interested in."

"No, like, I'd like to know what some of the things people had said about her mean and... You know."

"Yeah, I can tell you."

"Probably most of your sayings," Sharon says quietly, then raises her head with a flick of her hair, "The things Rusty wants to hear."

"Yeah." They are all quiet for a moment but before things can get awkward, Andy turns to Sharon. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

She shrugs again. She wants to talk of so many things but at the same time she doesn't have the words for anything. But she needs to start somewhere.

"Tonight." Sharon takes Andy's hand off her shoulders. He lets it drop: her tone and her determined leaning forward tells she means business.

"Look, Sharon," Rusty jumps ahead to make it less uncomfortable for them all, "it's fine, I get it."

"See, that's the thing, honey, I —"

"No, Sharon, I get it. I'm not a kid. I know if you, like, really kiss someone it's not just standing there with your lips together."

"Please." Sharon places one hand to shade her eyes and waves the other in the hopes of all these images to just go away. "I think I'm more embarrassed than you two put together."

They reply in unison, "You are."

It's quiet again as they wait for Sharon to continue. She lets her hand drop but switches to staring down the hall and out of the window at the end.

Rusty prompts her, "What did Emily and Ricky say about you dating?" Sharon's head whips around and her eyes are wide. "They saw you dating?" Rusty confirms.

"No, not really, no."

"Okay..." This is something to process later but not really helping his case right now. "So what did they say about you and Jack?"

"What do kids say about their parents... doing things." Andy snorts as Rusty groans. "Sorry. No, 'eww' mostly and 'mom, seriously'."

"So not scarred for life?"

"I hope not!"

"See, I'm not likely to get any more screwed up by you —," he flaps a hand between Sharon and Andy, "— dating."

"Well, technically, we are not."

At the risk of it being too much stress and pressure for her at the moment, Andy interjects, "And I think we should fix that."

"Perhaps," she says without even looking at him and waves him off. Yeah, he understands, not the moment to have that conversation, but now the intention is out there. "Honey," she continues her chat with Rusty, "what do you think about me and Jack?"

"What do I— About you... and Jack?"

The boy looks bewildered. Obviously he hadn't even thought about that question existing, never mind ever being directed at him. He looks from Sharon to Andy in that way that communicates him thinking of the possibility of hearing it wrong.

"Catholic guilt," Andy supplies easily.

"Oh. Oh! You mean like —" Andy nods, unnecessarily so, and Rusty focuses back on his soon-to-be mother, "Sharon, the fact that I went to a Catholic school was about you, not me."

Sharon raises to fold one leg under herself in the way she usually does when getting invested in explaining something. Her hands come out to gesture just like that. "The fact that I did, am doing, wrong remains and I should not expose you to that sort of a thing, not ever."

"Don't think I'm not caring, Sharon, but I really don't care at all. That's between you and Jack, maybe God." Out of the corner of his eye, the boy focuses on the man next to her. "And Andy."

"Honey, I made you a witness again."

"Well, yeah, walk-ins happen."

"No, I mean, legally a witness."

"You did?" Rusty clearly is surprised by this revelation.

"I — If — I—" Now it's Sharon turn to look bewildered as she glances at Andy.

Andy decides to step in for this small bit. "Sharon is trying to say that if Jack wanted to contest the divorce, he has grounds. If he wanted to call you as a witness, you would have to tell the court what you saw tonight."

"Seriously?"

Sharon nods.

"I'm going to lie, if he tries that."

"No, honey, you can't."

"Sharon, I will. Besides, isn't it like... a conflict of interest if he makes me say anything about your marriage? I'm a biased witness. I mean, like, I benefit from your divorce, I could lie anyway. Or, in case I don't want to be adopted, I'd lie for him."

"I—" The words catch in her throat.

"Shh," Andy lens forward and places a hand around Sharon's shoulders again, "It's alright. If he tries that, I have some things to tell him. But he won't. It's fine. The adoption is going to happen, right?"

Rusty nods, only realizing now how what he said could sound more than little cruel. They had discussed and agreed and as far as he is concerned, the time to back out is long gone. Sometimes it is hard to think how invested in this, in him, Sharon is.

He looks at the couple. Sharon looks serious, almost on the verge of pitying tears. Who she is going to pity: him or herself, Rusty doesn't know. But he's watched Andy around Sharon, and more accurately Sharon around Andy; and she is always calmer when he is around. He hasn't talked Andy with Sharon, but maybe he doesn't mind having Andy around her.

Rusty waggles a finger between the couple. "Can we have some ground rules about this?"

"What do you mean?" Andy asks, half-amused.

"You two... dating or whatever this is. While I'm in the room."

"Yeah?" Now he's amused. "Let's hear them."

"First," Rusty starts and leans forward in his seat with a feral glint in his eyes, "no using the kitchen worktops. That's a not even when I'm out." Sharon groans and hides her face, the boy almost laughs. "Second, no bare midriff. Third, hands on her ass and breasts are restricted to above clothes." Sharon gives out a pained hum. She really doesn't need any information on what the boy saw but there it is. "Fourth, no doing anything for which you usually need to remove any clothes. Fifth, when cuddling on the couch, she's on top."

Andy laughs while the flush of mortification takes over Sharon's chest and neck. "Sounds like these are rules for me," he says.

"Yeah. I assume she won't do anything... anything and you can't make her to." The boy tilts his head. "Sixth, door closed when you are in her bedroom or bathroom."

Andy laughs even more and leans to kiss the crook of Sharon's neck. "The kid's great."

"Okay, seven," Rusty is forced to add after seeing his lips on her skin. "No kissing her from the jaw down, except for hands."

Andy guffaws, kisses the side of Sharon's head and when there are no more rules forthcoming, finally agrees, "I think we can manage those. What do you say?"

"Okay," Sharon presses herself closer to his side and whispers.

"See, not bad."

"No."

Rusty watches Sharon curled against Andy. She is quiet, almost meek, maybe thinking since she has brought her knuckles against her lips. He partly expected for her to middle-name him for his audacity (though the rules did come out of a place of deep honesty) but she seemed to retreat behind Andy even more. He's never seen her look for strength in others, not even at work, and he wonders if this thing in front of him had actually gone further without him knowing or noticing. They had known each other for ages... Then again, Sharon and Jack had been practically born together and she never looked for anything in him. No, he decides, this thing was all Andy and Sharon. A different dynamic at a different point of their lives.

"So," he says aloud, "what's the plan?"

"The plan?" Andy asks as he spreads his arms along the couch's backrest.

"What are we doing tonight? Or are you going out?"

"Oh, no plans," Andy says casually. Silently he thinks, Except for sleep and lots of it. He knows, though, that that flew out of the window the moment he managed to be all over Sharon with Rusty in the same room. "What would you like to do?"

"Dunno," the boy shrugs as if he doesn't care. He probably doesn't. "Movie and pizza?"

"Not pizza again, Rusty!" Sharon mumbles into Andy's shirt.

Andy sheds a longing look towards the fridge that holds the Nonna's eggplant parm that's slipping through his fingers as they speak. However, it is a small price to pay for a tiny bit of acceptance and a modicum of comfort for Sharon. She needs to see nothing has changed but for their relationship. He sighs a little louder than he needs to and taps Sharon's chin with one finger. When she raises her eyes to look at him, he asks, "Did he eat it yesterday?"

"No."

"Day before?"

"No."

"Good enough for me," he nods. "Pizza and a movie?"

"Okay."

They, or rather Rusty, end up ordering two pizzas. In the boy's opinion a pizza has to have a meat or what's the point really and Sharon insists on a vegetarian. While Rusty taps in his pizza order, a custom meatlover's, Sharon and Andy quietly squabble over theirs. It's a given they will share but what is always a point of contention. Andy is not a friend of bell peppers and Sharon feels adding onion is ruining a perfectly good dough and cheese. These days he tunes that part out quite well.

"Okay, so, jalapenos, pineapple, asparagus and mozzarella?" Andy suggests with a grin when Sharon shoots down his fancy for arugula.

Sharon's eyes narrow. "First, pineapple doesn't belong on a pizza unless it has ham on it. Second, you know I get too hot to eat jalapenos."

He leans closer to her ear, "You're always hot, no need for jalapenos."

She slaps his shoulder and discreetly glances at Rusty who lounges across the armchair, nose in his phone. He looks like he's not listening to their bargaining at all which might be true since they go through this same discussion every single time they try to order take away together. First couple of times he watched them in fascinated awe but at some point he started using the time for messaging, playing games, going to bathroom and flipping through channels. Sharon halts for a few seconds, waiting.

"Hey, Sharon," Andy says looking for her attention. "California Veggie, hold the onion?"

She nods. "California Veggie, hold the onion," she agrees. They usually end up agreeing to get that exact same thing when they order pizza at her place. "Rusty?" The boy keeps fiddling with his phone. "Rusty!"

"What?"

"We're ready. Ca—"

"California Veggie, hold the onion?"

Andy bursts out laughing while Sharon looks between the guys, her lips still parted. "Uh, yes."

Rusty sighs and presses one single button. He already had their order ready bar the confirmation. "I don't know why we have to go through this same thing every single time." He throws his phone on the table. "Don't you guys even realize that you're so married?"


	5. Chapter 5

They let Rusty to choose the movie. A choice Sharon regrets about five minutes in: she is not in a mood for some pseudo-humorous action flick that has practically zero relatable elements. She is not as feminist as to object to the lack of any developed female characters but that doesn't help by much. And she would be happier to watch this kind of trash in clothes other than a tailored skirt that's probably soaked up every dust particle in the city and a blouse that's last seen any care a day ago. Andy, however, doesn't seem to mind the movie choice or his almost lived-in clothes: his rolled sleeves look disgustingly good and the two open buttons at his neck look effortlessly casual. There's still even a minty tang of an aftershave. Sharon hates him a little as she tries shoving her origami shirttails back into the waist of her skirt.

And even the popcorn is too buttery, too hot and too salty to her liking. She moans a groan under her breath.

"What?" Andy turns to glance at her, popcorn still a halfway between his lips. Sharon shakes her head and points to the tv screen where there's a rare lull in macho powerplays. His hand reaches for her ankle — her legs are curled between them, her toes slightly under his cushion — but she doesn't react. When she placed her legs between them, he frowned at her, but understood she needed the distance then. Waiting for the pizzas was awkward as hell and she felt visibly uncomfortable in her own skin. Maybe, Andy thinks, she's feeling a little more level now that his hand isn't a reason to bolt so he leans closer to her. "There's still pizza."

Sharon ate only two slices. Normally, she took at least three, and usually with a little time and gentle pushing enjoyed a fourth. Knowing when she last ate, it paints a shade of worry for Andy.

"Not hungry," she whispers back but it takes not two minutes for to get restless again.

"Shh," Andy shushes turning to her, trying to weight his hand on her leg to ground her, "watch the movie."

Again she shakes her head and flicks her fingers towards the screen. "I don't really care for this. You watch."

She makes to get up; straightens her back and slowly rises on her feet making his hand slip off her. Andy looks up to meet her eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"Working," she shrugs and nods in the direction of her desk. "I'll read something for tomorrow."

"Oh no you don't." Andy grabs her arm and pulls it hard enough for her to lose balance. She tries to counter by planting her other palm against the backrest but as soon as she leans forward the tiniest fraction, Andy is ready and pulling her back on the cushions and half on his lap. At her slight yelp of surprise Rusty glances at them. Seeing the minute shake Andy sends his way, he decides to focus fully on the movie, letting the couple get their wedded squabbles over in peace. He can only imagine they've done antics like this every time they've watched movies together without him in the room.

Somewhere behind his back Sharon starts to quietly protest, "Andy —"

"Shh." He half drags, half lifts her fully across his lap: her feet on the couch and her back against the armrest on his side. For good measure he slips a decorative cushion between the rest and her and snakes his arm around the small of her back. "Snuggle up and watch. And if you don't want to watch, doze off or think your own things."

Sharon fidgets uncomfortably and keeps shifting her feet as if trying to lessen her weight on him. Andy pulls a throw across her legs and under its cover rests his free hand across her shins. Then he focuses on the movie. The tension in her body doesn't seem to leave on it's own: she has too many reasons for it.

"Rusty?" Andy asks not looking away from the screen.

"Yeah?" he answers without turning.

"You mind her snuggling? She's on top, right?"

The boy glances around the barest minimum and as bored as possible throws a few popcorns in his mouth. "Yeah. Go for it."

Sharon stills as Andy strokes his hands up and down her side and shins. He searches her gaze and a fleeting, fragile smiles crosses her lips. He likes that look and with a smile of his own he leans closer to her ear, "See? Relax. You're where you're supposed to be."

She hums thinly and focuses on the frayed edge of the throw in her lap. It is strange for her to sit in someone's lap but she tries to calm herself and get used to the foreign feelings. He makes her feel warm and soft and sleepy. She wants to fight.

Slowly they all settle in for a quiet movie night. The sounds from the tv mingle with the occasional crunch of popcorn or a faint rustle of cloth as one of them moves. Andy can feel the residual tension in Sharon. Party he understands it. Partly he hates it.

Cautiously Sharon tests laying her head against his shoulder. Andy holds back all reaction. Finally she decides to give her shoulders a break and place all of her head's weight against him. The fingers of her right hand find purchase and balance on his belt, the left hand drops somewhere in the cushions, in the hollow under his arm and behind his back. His hold on her is not tight but it is sure so she resigns herself on thinking her own things, avoiding everything that happened tonight. However, she is getting so tired and warmer by minute that she is as close to not thinking anything as she has ever been in her life. It all revolves around abandoned sentences and forgotten words.

An hour and a half later Rusty cuts off the credits by turning the tv dark. He's about to make a somewhat cheeky comment to Sharon when his eyes land on her practically draped over Andy. Her hair hides most of her face, but from the angle of her head it looks like her nose is hidden in Flynn's shirt. In the silent condo her breathing is a slow snuffle, muffled further by the soft fabric and the curtain of her hair.

Rusty meets Andy's eyes. "Is she asleep?"

"Yeah," he looks down, answers softly, "I guess so. Stress."

"Really? Had no clue," the boy deadpans. He contemplates the couple, Sharon relaxed and as approachable as ever. Despite her soft home attire and sometimes quirky humor, she's always had this poise and hardness to her that forbids from getting too close. He realizes that he's never even seen her sleep before. Andy however looks like he often does: a little lost, a little vary as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, a tiny goofy grin tickling the corners of his lips when he focuses Sharon. When he looks at Rusty, that grin turns into a look of expectancy. For the lack of a better thing to say, and doubting there will ever be a better time to return to the subject as Sharon probably wouldn't be too open to it, Rusty blurts out, "Could Jack really, like, uh, ruin the divorce?"

"In theory," Andy confirms. "I don't think he will and it's a bit late. Seriously, if he tries, there a lot of people who have a lot to say about it. The separation kinda ruins his case a little."

Rusty nods. "She tried to explain it to me once, but I don't really get it."

"The separation?"

"Well, yeah. Why she didn't go for divorce."

They look at Sharon for a moment, listen to her deep breathing.

"Not sure there's anyone who does," Andy says. "It's not that easy, probably there is no one reason."

"Do you think she'll be happy?"

"Nobody knows, but yeah," he shrugs lightly, "I think she will."

Rusty's eyes bore into his. "You'll try?"

"Yeah." He ghosts his hand up and down her silk clad side. It's absentminded, almost a reflex, and she doesn't stir. "Like nothing else."

Rusty nods, picks up the popcorn bowl and retires to his room leaving them some privacy. Something tells him that if he's around when Sharon wakes up, she's going to get impossibly awkward again. And he's not sure he wants to see Flynn softly waking up his... Sharon. That thought alone has so many things wrong with it. He tells Andy he is coming back for a tv show later and to yell if they need anything. They probably won't, and Andy probably already knows where everything important is.

Andy waits for the kid to retire before gently stroking Sharon's back and leaning towards her ear.

"Hey," he says softly, "Wonderful, we need to get you in bed."

She hums, turns her cheek against his shoulder, mumbles, "That's you say to all the ladies."

He chuckles, thinking whether she meant that was something he says or something he should say to the ladies. Apparently trying to be witty while sleepy is not her thing and it is adorable.

"How did you know," he tells her drily and kisses her hair. "Do you want me try carrying you?"

"You'll drop me."

"Probably."

"I'm up."

The condo goes silent again for a minute.

"Sharon?" He shakes her a little. "Being up usually requires some amount of 'up'."

"I'm aware." Her hand trails from his belt up and on his shoulder. "Just eyes my resting. No hurry?"

He smiles at her fumbled sentence. "No. No hurry." He slips her glasses off and folds them in his hand.

Andy lets his cheek rest against the crown of her head and relaxes. He is keenly aware of not giving into the sleep beckoning him under as well but he's been a cop long enough to know how to stay in that restful place between sleep and awake. It is not proper rest most of the time but it does help for a while. And he is comfortable enough, but not so comfortable that his back isn't tingling and keeping him awake. Not that he minds the warm weight of Sharon around and over him, the soft couch behind his back and the low lights in her restful home. He feels at home.

All too soon he hears footsteps. Andy inhales deeply and sits up straighter.

"Uh," Rusty pauses at the end of the couch, finding for the second time today that the tableau of them didn't get any better by giving them time, "she's still not in bed?"

"No. Just resting her eyes apparently." Andy rolls his eyes. "For the past fifteen minutes or so."

"O-kay."

"What did you need?"

"Nothing. My show's on soon, that's all," the boy shrugs, "but I can watch it some other time."

"No, go ahead. If she wakes, at least I can get her to bed."

"Sure?" He's still not sure about Sharon finding him watching her sleep. Andy seems sure and relaxed however, so he takes his place on the armchair and flips the channels until he finds what he was looking for. The previous show is still running and he tries to resist the urge to turn back and see what's going on with Flynn and Sharon. He doesn't hear anything and it makes him curious.

It isn't until his show's run a few minutes and the main characters enter a fight in a bar that he hears Sharon's muffled voice. The music is heavy on the base, the sound effects ridiculous and people are yelling and she must have woken up because of that. Her voice is plaintive and Rusty thinks he can detect an irritated tint as she addresses Andy, "Can't you flash your badge and make them shut up?"

Andy chuckles lowly, "Is that a permission?" There's a beat of silence, then, "Sweetheart, can't you wake up for a minute and get yourself to bed?"

Rusty gives in and surreptitiously watches Sharon. She snuggles closer to Andy, as if a cat looking for a warmer spot on her owner's lap.

Andy laughs again. "Not even going to answer me?"

"No." Andy takes one of his hands and pulls some of her hair out of her face. She obviously makes a face at him when he rolls his eyes, still holding her hair away from her face. "You're warm," she says and her head shakes a little. Rusty guesses she rubs her nose against his chest. "Comfortable."

"I am or you are?"

She hums. "Both. Very."

At that point Andy locks eyes with Rusty. The boy hastily turns towards the tv screen. He seems almost as uncomfortable and awkward as Sharon would be were she to properly wake up and turn around now. Taking that into account, Andy makes an executive decision. He shuffles to the edge of the seat.

"I'm so going to carry you," he tells Sharon who is well on her way back to sleep.

"Hm. As if," she mumbles just as he hoists her into his arms, bridal style. Her throat releases a faint squeak.

Instead of being smooth and romantic Andy manages to drag her blouse out of her skirt and drop the throw in such a way he almost trips on his first step. The tripping would be a certainty if Rusty didn't lean down and, with a suffering sigh, hadn't tucked the fallen end into Sharon's lap. Andy nods his thanks and starts a slow walk towards her bedroom with Sharon hiding her face in his shoulder. She's not exactly asleep but not fully awake either. He thinks she's waiting to see what he is going to do, if he is actually going to carry her all the way.

And a part of him wonders if she's not faking sleep so she's not expected to acknowledge Rusty tonight.

At least that is his number one theory as in the corridor, half-way to her room, his arm slips inconveniently under her thighs and he leans against the wall to fix his hold. He might also puff a little. She makes a sound somewhere between a chortle, a sigh and a snort. "You can let me down."

"You're not heavy." She snorts again. "Just catching my breath."

"Uh-huh." One of her arms wraps around his shoulders. "Maybe you shouldn't skip your gym days."

"Don't nag," he says despite her voice being soft and her tone airy; even when he can hear a bit of a smile in her words. He likes her playful and her habit of wanting the last word: she's quick with her mind and her tongue which makes her the perfect partner for banter. Andy has always liked his women flirty but he finds Sharon's sharpness even better. Yes, he knows, they are such a cliche; not least by turning their verbal wars into sometimes badly veiled sexy repartee. But he likes that.

"I'm not. However..." Her fingers find the short hairs at the base of his neck. "On Tuesday, what did you do instead?"

He scowls at her. Her eyes are still closed, her lips slightly curving.

"Donuts with Provenza," they say in unison. She hums sagely and repeats, "Donuts with Provenza."

"I need fat to build muscle," he says defensively.

"Or to clog your arteries."

"Go back to sleep."

She laughs, silently and too mockingly to his liking, all the way inside her bedroom. He's not impressed: all he's trying is to make the evening easier on her and Sharon only mocks him in thanks. Right, Andy thinks, if she's awake enough to mock him, she's awake enough for some payback.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Last chapter, finally. I think this a good place to leave these guys though it was fun to revisit the "Much making out" universe... :) Thanks everyone for reading, commenting & F+f. _

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Inside, Andy unceremoniously plonks her on the mattress which jiggles a few times. Giving Sharon no respite, he sits himself by her hips, leans on a hand he places on the other side of her hips; faces her watching him. Her expression is relaxed, tinged with residual mirth, her eyes a little bleary. He only now realizes he left her glasses on the couch but it doesn't faze him. Sharon's told him previously that it's not that she can't see, but that she doesn't see detail and trying to focus gives her headaches all too soon. She can definitely see him, Andy thinks, as they're only a few feet apart. For now.

For he is going to be an ass but in his defense, it's nothing she hasn't done to him: it was she who seduced him last night with her tiny fluttery kisses that slowly enticed him to put in the effort and really enjoy himself, and as soon as that happened, she threw him out and left him hanging. Tonight Andy's determined to return the favor.

In the low light he can still see the detail of her: the mussed hair, barely there make-up, even the slight crease on her cheek from where it leant against his shirt. Andy tries to pinpoint where she turned into this soft and affectionate creature: if it was something he could exploit enough to better exact his evil plans — and more than that, if there is something he can do to get this mood back in the future. He's had a good night. Despite everything. Thinking back the events of the evening it doesn't take many beats before an obscene grin takes over his face.

"What?" Sharon half-whispers with a voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Rusty called us married," Andy replies with the first innocent thing that comes to mind.

She sighs and stretches her back by arcing it. "I shouldn't be too happy about it," she says and doesn't look him in the eye any more. Instead she reaches to play with the placket and buttons of his shirt, "If you think about our marriages that's not good. I don't think he's ever even seen a healthy marriage."

"Mike and Cathy."

She hums an agreement. "Yes, only one."

"But Sharon," he says trying to gain her eyes. Sharon is taking this a lot more seriously than he anticipated. Maybe he shouldn't make light of things that remind her of the other part of her life that is ending; her failure to keep a marriage together. Clearly that is the path her mind is taking as her expression remains serious and thoughtful and she avoids looking at him. "We have traditions already," he continues regardless, "That's kind of sweet, don't you think?"

"Yes." She flicks a button. "Our tradition is fighting. Very sweet indeed."

"Dammit, Sharon, you are —"

That gets her eyes. She places a palm against chest, lowers her voice even more, "Rusty is out there."

Andy lets whatever he was going to say to be forgotten. She is frustrating and unresponsive and they keep going around in circles but he knows it comes from a place of deep insecurity and hurt and bad experiences. These past few days, the heated and lazy moments stolen in between their gruesome case, she has been trying opening up to him. Whether it has been a result of some natural evolution or her picking up his own discontent with how things are between them and his dissatisfaction with his inability to spell his wants and dreams out to her, it doesn't matter. Something is changing.

"Sharon, he doesn't care."

"He says, he doesn't care. That is not the same as 'he doesn't care'." She goes back to focusing on smoothing the front of his shirt. "He's had a rough ride with his mother and there hasn't been a... man in his life since —" she pauses to swallow like she's eaten something distasteful, "— Gary."

"And he knows you're not his mother... Like his mother, I meant." Andy folds her hand in one of his but keeps her fingers touching his chest. "I hope he knows I'm not like his mother's boyfriends."

"We both like to believe you're not," Sharon confesses and it goes beyond him being cruel to her kids which he would never be. She knows that. Her eyes drop even lower down his chest. "But we — you and me — we weren't actually proving that earlier."

"And if you saw him at all, you would know he wasn't scared or disgusted. Surprised, yeah, but he definitely wasn't upset."

"I know."

"If you keep on avoiding the situation, it's not going to get better."

"I know." She licks her lips. "He knows too much."

"Well, you can't turn back time. He was sixteen and hurt and he was doing what his kid brain told him was easy and turned out it was anything but."

Now her eyes flick to his. "About us. He knows too much about us. I don't know any more about us than he does and it feels like I'm having to catch up and think and analyze while—"

"What do you need to know, Sharon?" Andy stops her before she can run herself into a panic. She shrugs, emphasizing the gesture with her free hand and setting a faint tendril of something floral moving in the warm air. "We've spent a lot of time together, and I think we both have liked that. We like each other. We get the job. We are great friends and, well, at least I think, we could have great something more. I like talking with you, I like looking at you and I like touching you. So what?"

Sharon shrugs again and pulls her hand out of his. Before he can panic about that latter part, the warm, slightly sweaty, palm lands softly on his cheek. She smiles at him and he frankly doesn't care about much right at that point. She has the best smile.

But it won't protect her. His kiss goodnight will not be sweet and innocent: Andy plans to get her whining and panting for him, then bidding goodnight and slipping out before she realizes. She is so deliciously into their kissing that it seems like such a shame not to use that against her a little bit. Yes, he'll get her whiny and needy and bid goodnight, he thinks with predatory glee. Serves her right for waking the beast and then toying with it.

Serves her right for using him as a shield and then laughing at him.

He leans closer over her, mirroring her smile for the most part — the other, tinier, part being quite wolfish. "Don't worry so much."

As if by magic Sharon anticipates his intention, turns her cheek to him. "No."

"I can't kiss you good night?"

"No." She turns to smile at him and with one finger pushes his lips away from her. "Rule number six. We're already breaking it."

Andy shoots up as if hearing a fire alarm. He trots the few steps to the door, takes the handle and turns to look at Sharon. Like the lady in Wheel of Fortune, he gestures at the door and then theatrically slams it shut. Giggling at his antics, Sharon raises to lean on her elbows. Sauntering back towards her, Andy can hear Rusty increase the volume on his show. She giggles even when he comes back to sit at her side and starts to kiss down her cheek, along her neck and over her collarbone.

"Cheat."

"Oh no, Sharon, I'm just following the rules. And sometimes sticking to the rules is better than cheating." Andy moves his lips down and center of her chest, at the point where he encounters that button he is starting to hate with a passion probably wasted on an inanimate object. He pecks the point again, then searches the edge of the throw still lying over her legs. "Six rules about our conduct with him home and one to render them void." She raises a questioning brow. "Bedroom —," he makes an all-encompassing gesture, "— door —," one hand gestures at the item, the other finds her thigh under the blanket, "— closed. Everything else? Fair game."

"I doubt he meant 'everything' and not tonight..."

"So? He should have specified." The hand on her thigh starts to stroke back and forth from just above her knee to the first inch under her skirt. His lips ghost hers too quick for her to respond. "I'm playing by the rules and enjoying myself and that should be enough for both of you."

"It isn't," she whispers, suddenly serious. "I want to enjoy myself too."

Sharon opens her legs the barest minimum, conscious of restricting her movements enough to claim he was imagining it, that she was just fixing her position because of a kink in her back or a leg falling a sleep or... Her excuses are needless when he slips his fingers on the inside of her thigh.

She is quiet, intently watching his face, while Andy tentatively makes lazy circles against her silken skin. He is dazed by her once again leaping ahead and making his plans mundane. He sighs, pushes his palm up the front of her thigh, well under her skirt; and leans in to kiss her lips, lazily, sloppily. Sharon fingers slide to play with the hairs at the base of his neck and they remain occupied there even when he releases her lips.

They watch each other in the silent room, faint bassy notes coming through the door from Rusty's show. Sharon's breath sounds like sand moved by wind while Andy's hand works rustle like steps on newly fallen snow out of the fabrics between them.

Sharon dabs her parted lips with the tip of her wet tongue. "Don't you want to sleep?"

Andy shakes his head more to clear his mind than to disagree. In all honesty, he should go. This game has turned dangerous, intriguing and tempting. Knowing he has to retreat before she lures him into doing something extraordinarily stupid, he extracts himself from her penetrating eyes and tempting body, rolls on his back beside her.

"You know what I'd really like?" he asks rhetorically. She hums and Andy rolls his head to meet her eyes already looking in his direction. "I'd really like that creep to walk in in the morning and say 'yup, you got me, I did it so here, have a long weekend'."

Her giggles are low and throaty. Andy wonders if she's trying to be seductive (because that's what she is) or if she heard Rusty's desire for a little more volume earlier. Even her voice is hoarse when she whispers. "I think you forgot Taylor."

Automatically his hand finds her hip. So much for getting space between them. "Not someone I'd like to think about here."

"No?"

As Andy rolls back to hover over her, Sharon's eyes drop to his shirt. She scrunches her nose in slight annoyance. "How can you look this good? I look like I slept in a washing machine. With a bag of McDonald's."

He huffs a laugh. "No Iron shirt from Walmart, fifteen bucks." At her incredulous look, he adds, "Three for two."

There's no other word: Sharon gapes at him. "You did not."

"Sorry, Sharon."

"How can you wear that thing with your Hugo Boss suits!"

"Easy." His hand soothes her hip while he tries desperately not to laugh at her adorable outrage for his wardrobe. He whispers straight into her ear, "It makes my boss think I look dapper all day long."

"It's not fair." Sharon pouts and picks on her blouse, holding it away from herself by the first closed button.

"If it bothers you that much, you can take it off."

It's a joke and when she rolls her eyes he has no intention to do anything further. That changes as his fingers take the button from between hers and her breathing stops. Sharon's eyes lock unto his and everything goes eerily still. Almost without a thought he lets the button slip through its hole and as it does so, she inhales sharply. His fingers move on to the next one, slipping it through its hole, then does the same two more times.

"It's late," she whispers.

"Getting later," he agrees as he pulls her blouse open. His eyes, previously stuck to hers, jump lower and stick to her chest as his fingers move across it to trace the thin edges of her camisole. He can see a ghost of her bra through the nearly translucent material. It's flimsy and silky and the perfect compliment to her blouse in this hot weather.

"Rusty's out there." Her voice is a breathless murmur. "And it's getting late," she adds as her fingers curl in the sheets beside her. "And we haven't talked."

Andy glances up to see her front teeth slipping over her lower lip. Her eyes are darker than usual and her breathing shallow and controlled, her long muscles taut. "That's not a 'no'," he says.

"No, it isn't." She relaxes a smidgen with the exhale. "You know it isn't. It won't be."

"Sharon, as far as I'm concerned, that's all we need to know. Right?" He waits for her hesitant nod. "Don't complicate simple things."

"I'm not..."

"Well, you're spending time worrying about things that haven't happened and we don't know ever will."

"You might be right but —"

He stops her objections with an open-mouthed kiss. She stops, completely, before whimpering and responding. Sharon takes his tongue in her mouth with sudden enthusiasm, losing herself in this part of their complicated relationship that seems to get unspeakably easier by every attempt. He's perfect at making her feel relaxed and boneless. Perfect at making her quiet her mind.

Andy's hand at the crease between her hip and thigh feel the large muscles in her left thigh shake. She pushes the leg upwards against his hip but he keeps pressure on the palm.

"Easy," he calms her in between kisses.

Sharon ignores him. She shimmies lower on the sheets, her skirt rolling into a baton of cloth beneath her. She can't get comfortable and the skirt is only a part of the problem. In fact, she can name four other aspects making her uncomfortable: the shirt sleeves stuck to her arms, her top, her bra, her... She can't even think of that last one without reflexively reaching closer to him. Even if there's that damn skirt and a throw between them. He, however, has the sense to stop her from making a needy fool of herself by planting more pressure on the palm against her thigh.

She is very much in that place where stupid ideas start to feel extremely good and right now she is having a couple of very very good ones. A whine out of her throat mingling with a scream of tires from the stupid show Rusty's watching snaps her thoughts closer to the reasons which make those ideas in fact bad. "Andy..." she whispers, then chokes on a laugh when her own neediness catches up with her. "What the hell are you doing to me?"

His lips pause on her neck and after a few seconds his eyes raise to meet hers. "Huh?"

"Nothing." He looks almost as disheveled as she feels and it's even funnier. She can't stop the giggles as he watches her with confusion and that makes everything funnier and funnier. Her eyes glint with her laughter and he can't help but smile at her. She looks so happy, so carefree. His lips slip into a lopsided grin and he leans back in for kisses to which she can hardly respond for her puffs of laughter. Andy nips at her lips in turns and just as he thinks she's back to tiny moans and needy whines she pulls back to let loose another peal of giggles.

Next time she does that he loses his patience and instead of keeping his weight off her, he presses their bodies together and embraces her tightly to himself, his arms burrowing between her back and the open blouse. She gasps a faint 'oompf' letting her giggles finally die into his devouring mouth. It's like he is resuscitating her; blocking her from every air not coming from him. Sharon's arms hook around his shoulders. Now she's with him.

This time they are slow, a little clumsy; moving like in treacle. His hands search for purchase on her sides, create new creases into the collection already on her blouse. Her hands are lost unto them both: Andy can feel the heels of her palms pressing on his shoulders but not a trace of her fingers. She can feel him wanting her against her hip and now her rolled up skirt proves useful as she rocks over it, bumping lightly but insistently against him. Her aim's getting better, she thinks with satisfaction. He groans, the sound sobering her up.

"Andy." She pants, his lips glued to her jaw. "Andy?" Her breathing hides her words somewhat but she emphasis them with a shove on his shoulder. "We have work tomorrow."

He flops on his back beside her, in the soft linens that release a cloud of Sharon's scent, and he groans, now of displeasure. He breathes deep. "Thank you for reminding me."

Sharon follows him rolling on her side, perching on an elbow. Her eyes fix somewhere over his left shoulder as she correctly interprets his deflated mood. "If it's too much trouble, I can drive myself, it's not a problem."

"No, no, no." He considers her flushed skin, her mussed up hair, the remains of dark dilated pupils in the middle of the green — even the way her top sags at the cleavage rendering a sliver of pale skin and the edges of lace unprotected. She looks right about as flushed as he imagined she would when it'd be time to make his exit. Trouble is, that idea doesn't sound so good now; not with her lazy smile gone and eyes cast down for rejection; his own back on the soft linens and the clock face behind her head screaming at him to shut his eyes. Not with the sound from the television still creeping through the closed door and the way his lap still craves for the warmth of her.

Andy makes a quick decision, maybe a bad one, but he doesn't care. Someone has to take the lead and his plan A doesn't look so good now. "Right," he says and pushes Sharon on her back as well, then kisses her cheek before crossing his fingers on his chest. "Pretty head on the pillow, please. Early morning tomorrow and I need sleep."

He goes quiet and still.

After a surprised minute or two Sharon props herself back on one elbow to gape at him. His eyes are closed and his breathing is already slow and deepening. He's faking it, she thinks. No one can be ready to fall asleep that quick. Not even after the day they've had. Especially not after the last thirty minutes they've had: her body is humming and her clothes feel even more uncomfortable than before. She licks her lips in contemplation.

Then again, she already slept for a couple of hours. He probably didn't get a wink while she was using him as her personal pillow. She considers him. At least 6'2" and 200 pounds and she's not exactly been going to the gym either. And he's warm and she's still half-wrapped in the comfy throw the edge of which is under him and it feels kinda good to lie next to him even if her body is a bit too keyed up and she's not thought about work, not once around him and... And she's too damn tired to kick him out.

"Come on, Sharon," he says his eyes tightly shut, almost startling her. He unbuttons his shirt, unfastens his belt and drags it off with a tiny grunt and a clink as it hits the floor beside the bed buckle first. Then he blindly reaches for her back and pulls her to snuggle tight against his side as if it is nothing at all. With the other hand he reaches for the throw, drapes it over her legs and circles her waist. He's instantly warm with the embracing of her, and when Sharon melts into his grasp, his lips drown in tendrils of auburn like it's a given. He inhales her scent, then sighs at her hum, "We have plans."


End file.
